Page 23 of Forbidden Boss (Manhattan Billionaires)

I straightened my shoulders and narrowed my eyes. “As soon as Clara confirms my start date, I’ll be going home.”

“No.”

I reared back. “No?”

“No, you won’t be going home. You have work to do tonight.”

I huffed. “Since when?”

“Since you signed your name on that piece of paper, Ms. Jordan. You’re my companion. You will accompany me.” He turned his head toward Clara, who was standing silent a few steps away. “Joanne is expecting me for dinner tonight. Find something appropriate for Ms. Jordan to wear.”

“Of course,” Clara said, then gestured to the elevators. “Ms. Jordan, please.”

“Now, hold on a minute,” Phil interjected, standing at my shoulder.

Blakely’s dark gaze shifted to meet the lawyer’s. “Is there a problem?”

Phil ignored him and turned to me. “Are you okay with this? I can?—”

I put my hand on his arm. “It’s fine, Phil.”

Because Blakely was right. I’d signed that piece of paper, which meant I had a boss. If he wanted to take me to dinner with Joanne—whoever she was—then that’s what I would do. This job was unexpected, and it might be the thing to lift me out of perpetual brokehood into something better.

Sure, my boss was an overbearing ass with a perma-scowl. But I could deal with that. That was the decision I’d made in that conference room, with my pen poised over that contract. I’d accompany him to every social event, and I would dazzle and charm like my life depended on it.

For all intents and purposes, it did.

I needed this job, and being a high achiever was part of my DNA. If this was the decision I’d made, I would do my best. Starting right now.

I nodded at the lawyer. “Thank you so much for today.”

He scowled at me, then sighed as his shoulders softened. Under Rome Blakely’s watchful gaze, I got in the elevator with Clara and Phil. Once the doors closed, the lawyer pulled out his card and gave it to me. “You need anything, you call.”

I nodded, “Thank you.”

Clara said nothing. She pressed the button for the twelfth floor, where she and I disembarked, and I waved goodbye to Phil Phillips. I was on my own.

Greeting a few curious faces as we strode past, Clara led me to a room secured with a touchpad lock. Her fingerprint granted us access, and I was greeted with a temperature- and moisture-controlled piece of heaven. Garment racks lined the walls, filled with thousands of pieces of clothing. I sucked in a hard breath.

“The costume archive,” she said. “We’ve downsized some, now that we’re outsourcing a lot of the shoots, but there should be something in here we can use.”

I touched a beautiful silk dress in mustard yellow. It would look terrible on me, but the fabric fell over my fingers like liquid. I sighed. Boss notwithstanding, so far, this was the best jobever.

“Who’s this Joanne lady?” I asked while Clara flicked through various garment-bag-covered outfits.

She frowned at one of them, then glanced over her shoulder. “What size are you? I think this could work.”

My heart sank when I saw her pull out a beige suit. It was beautifully crafted, but it was just so…boring.

“Why can’t I just wear what I have on?” A business dress with chic piping and a perfect cut would be better than a beige pantsuit.

Clara took in my blue-and-white outfit that hit my knees, down to the black hose-covered legs and fabulous pumps. “Absolutely not.”

“What’s wrong with this dress?” I asked, then pointed to the suit she held. “That looks like I’m going to be an extra in a courthouse movie.”

Clara snorted, her eyes sparkling. “Extra in a courthouse movie is exactly the vibe we’re going for. The nonspeaking, fade-into-the-background kind of role.”

“You’re sure I can’t wear something like this?” I asked hopefully, pulling a black dress from the rack. It had a square neckline with halter straps, and the skirt flared out in an A-line. Conservative, simple, but at least it wasn’t beige.

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